


A Gift To Remember

by Rainah (orphan_account)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It's mostly just Bucky, Not particularly shippy sorry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2228643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Rainah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not over when Bucky's programming breaks. The dreams are bad. They days are worse. And no one seems to be able to help, not even Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gift To Remember

**Author's Note:**

> First dip into a new fandom, and what a lovely fandom it is.
> 
> unbeta'd so excuse the occasional mistake

It wasn't the nights that were the problem. 

Nightmares still plagued Bucky, a full year after Steve had found him. They would probably always plague him. But nightmares were temporary. 

He had to _live_ in the daytime. 

No matter how bad the dreams got, they were over when his alarm went off (5:00 every day, because that was all he could remember). He would jolt awake and let the dreams (dreams? memories?) fade back into a dull roar. He wasn't that person. He wasn't the stone cold warrior who killed without mercy, the body jerking on a table, the obedient dog that listened without question. 

They told him that over and over. _You are not those things_. Not anymore. 

He was James Buchanan Barnes. 

Bucky Barnes 

(Sergeant 32557038) 

If he forgot that when he slept it didn't matter. Bucky never tossed or turned, never cried out in the night. He was trapped in his dreams, yes, but it was a solitary prison. 

Daylight was different, because the Winter Soldier was no further away than at night and now he could _move_. A silver car flashed by, whisper-silent, and suddenly _he's not on the sidewalk with friends anymore, he is a soldier and he mustn't be noticed by anyone. Not the man grabbing his arm in concern, not the flash of silver that surely indicates a threat_ \- 

And then he blinked and came back to himself, feeling Nat's fingers digging into his right arm and seeing Steve restraining his left and that realizing he'd lost a good five minutes staining against them. It's a miracle he wasn’t violent. 

It happened again, at the _store_ of all places, when they walked past the toy aisle and Bucky saw two children fighting with swords and _he’s at a training facility where the walls are made of metal, metal like the arm that is attached to his shoulder and he can’t quite remember why. All around there are teenagers trying to kill each other with various weapons and one of them has red hair and a glare that could probably kill him if she ever directed it that way_ and finally Bucky understood why sometimes he got the urge to reach out and touch Natasha (He doesn’t ask for the full story, doesn’t ask what else she hasn’t told him). 

Bucky learned quickly that being free was not so simple

He went jogging at night, because that was the only time he felt safe. He could run and run until he didn't feel anything anymore and the jagged edges of his psyche were worn smooth. Jogging was physical, which he desperately needed, but more than that jogging was _solitary_. And he needed that even more. 

They couldn't understand why he spent so much time alone. 

Steve called every therapist he knew, even resorting to googling Bucky's symptoms (there's not a lot that comes up when you google "how to reverse cryo-induced memory loss and electrical brain washing" - not even Wikihow has an answer for that one). Sam invited him to attend some meetings, and brought over enough ready-made food for Bucky to eat for a month. Even Natasha, who usually understood what he was going though, had no point of reference for this. She just nudges his shoulder (it's achingly familiar, even without a memory attached) and tells him he needs to stop dwelling on his past sins. 

It’s not the past he’s worried about, it’s the present. He hasn’t hurt anyone yet, but how long until one of his flashbacks is of _combat_? How long until he _snaps_ , slips back into the Winter Soldier and snaps someone’s neck? 

So he jogged, avoided Steve unless they were in strictly controlled circumstances, and slept as much as he could. 

“You won’t spend any time with me,” Steve said one day, during a routine visit to Bucky’s quarters (it’s only three rooms, sparse and clean, and when Bucky’s having a good day he can joke that it’s much more spacious than where he slept for the last 60 years). 

“hm?” Bucky looked up from where he’s spooning dinner out of a Tupperware. He tried to think of what the old Bucky would say, but nothing came to mind. 

Steve hurried to fill the gaps. “Not that it’s a problem, Bucky, but you don't spend time with _anyone_. I’m worried about you.” 

A laugh came, unbidden, and for once the words flowed naturally. “It makes me feel safe. In control.” 

“In control?” Steve frowned. He took a bite of Bucky’s dinner. “That is disgusting, by the way, you need to stop letting Sam cook for you.” 

He brushed off the comment because really, he’s had much worse. “I don’t want to hurt people.” 

“That’s not you, Bucky,” Steve protested. Bucky felt a wiggle of anxiety start to build in him, a rasping _run back stay away go to where it’s simple again_ \- Steve kept talking, unable to hear the voices in his head. “What Hydra did, or forced you to do, isn’t your fault. It’s all in the past-“ 

“It’s not!” He slammed a fist down and there was now a dent in his countertop. Steve finched away. 

_Suddenly he’s back in an apartment in Brooklyn, angry about a girl. He’s calling her all sorts of terrible things and Steve doesn’t do anything but sit quietly until he throws a punch at the wall. Then Steve’s on his feet. “Bucky! Stop!” And Steve is small and kind and good and Bucky would never do anything to frighten him unnecessarily_ \- 

The memory, so sharp and clear and _real_ , was enough to stop him in his tracks. He took a deep breath. “It’s still here, Steve. The Winter Soldier’s still here. And, sometimes, I feel like he’s going to get the better of me. He’s going to come out and I’m gonna hurt someone.” 

He expected a reassuring pat on the shoulder, a hug even, but when he looked up Steve was staring straight at him with clear eyes. “You couldn’t kill me on the carriers. They had brainwashed you for _years_ , Bucky, wiped all of your memories away- and you still didn’t kill me when you had the chance. I got through to you, and I can do it again. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” 

“I was, though,” Bucky protested weakly. “I shot you.” 

“You could have shot me in the head from twice that,” Steve reminded him, because James Buchannan Barnes was a marksman and so was the Winter Soldier. Bucky will be glad if he never had to pick up a gun again. “You remembered, Bucky. And I know you can take care yourself, but… you don’t have to.” 

Another flashback, even stronger- _a porch on a windy day and Steve in his nicest clothes, the key is under the brick like it always is_ -

“Stop,” Bucky says, because this memory _hurts_. He doesn’t want to remember _how it felt to sit in that church as Steve said his last goodbyes, and Steve buried his mother beside his father and went home alone. You don’t have to be alone we can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. You don’t have to be alone_.

“Bucky,” Steve said, because Bucky’s got his hands over his ears and it’s too much pressure from his left but it didn't matter. He held them there until the flashback faded. 

_You don’t have to be alone_. 

Steve pulled Bucky’s hands from his head and just held them. “Are you with me here?” 

“Yeah.” It felt like he’d run a marathon. Two. Or whatever the equivalent for super soldiers was. “I think,” he said slowly, “I need to figure some things out. I mean,” he looked up, up to the Steve that looks so different from the Steve he remembered. “I remembered you. From before.” 

Steve looked down, to where his hands were still holding Bucky’s. “We’ll help you remember more. Bruce has some new ideas, and Natasha can fill you in, and we have files-“ 

“Tomorrow,” Bucky agreed, cutting Steve off. Right now he just wanted to rest. He wanted to retreat into sleep for just a little bit longer. 

Steve moved to the door, hesitated, and then folded Bucky into a hug. The sensation was incredibly unfamiliar, and Bucky’s first instinct was to bristle and flinch away. Steve was supposed to be small, tiny enough that he could barely get his arms around Bucky. Not taller and broader and carrying himself with ease. Something else to get used to. 

Bucky fought the anxiety down and made himself relax. “We’ll get through it,” Steve murmured. 

“You know it.” 

It’s not what they had. It never will be. But, maybe, it can be something else worthwhile. 

(There’s really nowhere to go but up.)


End file.
